MOHAMMEDAN FESTIVALS: THE HOLY CARPET—THE FAST OF RAMADAN AND THE ASHURA
WOMAN so seldom figures in the history of the Mohammedan world that when she appears in the long records of the khalifs, the emirs and the vizirs, she is as welcome as a treble solo after a prolonged bass chorus. The story of the beautiful but unhappy Zohra may not be edifying in all its details, but it lifts for a moment the veil which conceals the hareem life, and gives us an insight into the tragic events occasionally enacted behind these closed doors. The curtain has but recently descended on the drama in which Zohra took a leading part. If we change the names and omit a few details referring to present times, it would be hard to believe that this was not some medi?val story such as the shoara recite in the market-places.
We have to go back to the thirteenth century to find the name of a woman who played an important part in the government of Egypt. There is something refreshing in her name, Sheger-ed-Durr, which means ‘The Spray of Pearls,’ coming as it does amongst the list of the blood-stained warriors of those stirring times. She was a slave who became the wife of the mameluke, Emir es-Salih, not of him who built the Fátimid mosque mentioned further back, but of the Salih who founded152 the mameluke dynasty when he usurped the throne of the last of the house of Saladin. He was killed while fighting the Crusaders shortly after Sheger-ed-Durr had become his queen. The heir to the throne was a son of es-Salih by a former wife, and some time elapsed before he could be brought from the outlying province where he also was endeavouring to hold the Crusaders in check. The widowed queen undertook the management of affairs in the meanwhile, keeping the death of her husband a secret until the succession should be established. The new khalif, Turán-Shah ibn es-Salih, was not long on the throne before he met his death in a brawl, and Sheger-ed-Durr once more took up the reins of government. She sank her identity in that of her baby son, and ruled under the title of ‘Mother of the victorious King Khalil.’
153 While this baby king’s victories were confined to the nursery, his mother’s generals were defeating the Crusaders in every part of his dominions. The battle of Mansúra decided the fate of the last Crusade, and Louis IX. was taken prisoner by the Emir Beybars. The mother of Khalil arranged the ransom which was paid to release the King of France; and, though not in name, she in fact governed the country during some seven or eight years. The baby king died, and Mohammedan prejudice could not brook a woman at the head of affairs. The khalif of Baghdád was appealed to, and a husband was chosen for her in the person of Aybek. It appears that she ruled her husband with as firm a hand as she ruled her country. But this rule was not of long duration. ‘Like a true woman,’ says Stanley-Lane Poole, ‘she could be jealous; she made him divorce another wife, and when Aybek ventured to propose a fresh marriage with a princess of Mosil, the queen gave way to a regrettable act of resentment; having lured him by fair words to the Citadel—the facts unhappily can’t be softened—she had him murdered in his bath’—not unlike Zohra’s vengeance of six centuries later. ‘Her punishment was speedy and terrible. In three days all was over. The mamelukes shut her up in the Red Tower, where she vindictively pounded her jewels in a mortar that they might adorn no other woman, and then she was dragged before the wife whom she had made Aybek divorce, and there and then beaten to death with the women’s clogs. For days her body lay in the Citadel ditch for the curs to worry, till some good Samaritan buried it. Her tomb may be seen beside the chapel of Sitta Néfisa, and a pious hand of these latter days has shrouded it with a cloth on which the Arabic name “Spray of Pearls” is worked in gold.’
The object of the present writer is not the ambitious one of attempting a history of Egypt, but to give a simple account of such things as he saw and heard while in pursuit of his work as an artist. The story of Zohra is still told in the bazaars, and the professional reciter still entertains his audience with the doings of Sheger-ed-Durr. This queen has also a bearing on that vexed question of the origin of the Holy Carpet. The departure of the Mahmal and its return from Mekka are the two events in Cairo which annually excite the greatest interest.
154 The hodag, or the gorgeous covered litter borne by a camel, is usually taken by the foreign sightseers to be the covering of the Holy Carpet which is destined to be placed on the Kaabah at Mekka. There is little wonder that this should be so, for it is by far the most striking object in the procession. It does not, however, contain the carpet, or for that matter anything else. Its origin dates from the pilgrimage which ‘The Spray of Pearls’ made to the Holy City six centuries and a half ago; and though she is only reported to have gone once, her camel and litter were yearly sent to represent her. The original hood of this litter has since been replaced, and the Mahmal, as it is called, has ever since been sent with the pilgrims to represent Royalty at the yearly hagg.
I have had the good fortune to see the procession of the Mahmal several times, both on its starting for Mekka and on its return to Cairo. The Kisweh, as the carpet itself is called, is taken in four separate pieces, which are enclosed in boxes and borne by camels. Though handsome cloths cover these boxes, and the trappings of the camels are magnificent, they yet look far less important than the empty litter which precedes them.
A new carpet, or, properly speaking, a new covering for the Kaabah is annually made, and, when the fast of Ramadan is over, its component parts are deposited in the mosque of the Hasaneyn, there to remain for the few weeks which elapse before the pilgrimage sets out.
When the great day arrives, all Cairo assembles in the large open space on the south of the Citadel walls, and east of the great mosques of Sultan Hassan and of155 el Rifaiya. His Highness the Khedive and all the great state functionaries are here, and smart up-to-date soldiers keep back the crowds of sightseers to make way for as picturesque and truly oriental a spectacle as any one could wish to see. I confess that familiarity has in this case robbed the proceedings of some of its charm; for I have seen and sketched some of these camels in their gorgeous trappings when they have done duty at weddings, and also in the courtyard of the man who hires them out. The pictorial effect is there, however, none the less. I have enjoyed it more while seeing it pass through the old medi?val streets, or file out into the desert through the Bab en-Nasr. Until quite recently its route lay through the passes in the Mokattam hills, and by the desert track which leads to Suez. It is now taken by train to Alexandria, and shipped to Jiddeh, as the nearest port to the Holy City.
My illustration to this chapter is the return journey to Cairo, and though I may have taken some liberties with the background, it will give some idea of its aspect during its desert march. My picture of the marriage procession in the earlier part of this book shows some of the properties which figure in this yearly spectacle.
As the Mohammedan year is composed of lunar months, it is eleven days short of the year as we understand it. Thus these and all other religious festivals are set back eleven days annually. When, in the course of time, the pilgrims will start on their journey during the summer months, few foreigners will have an opportunity to see this picturesque pageant. The156 Great Beiram will also fall during the time when Cairo is empty of visitors, and this is the most important holiday in the Mohammedan world. It is the day of the sacrificial feast which the pilgrims partake of in Mekka after they have heard the sermon on Mount Arafat. As this impressive gathering on the holy mount is only to be witnessed by the followers of the Prophet, we must content ourselves with seeing all we can of its commemoration in more accessible places. The Lesser Beiram, with which we must not confuse it, is the holiday and feastings which follow the last day of the fast of Ramadan. To be spared the month of Ramadan is a loss no visitor need regret. He will not be much aware of it in his modern hotel, where Frankish servants may eat and drink their fill; but should his occupation lie amongst the natives, he will indeed rejoice when the last gun is fired to herald the advent of the Lesser Beiram.
As in many other matters, this fast fells much more heavily on the poor than on the rich. The well-to-do can pass most of the hours, between the rising and the setting of the sun, in sleep or in their cool and comparatively dustless homes. But just think what a long day spent in the sun and the dust must be to a man who may not let a drop of water pass his lips! The callous remark that they are used to it is nonsense. They are used to a drink of water whenever they feel inclined during the eleven months preceding the fest, and this must quite have broken the habit of a rigid abstinence.
I spent one Ramadan in the camp of the Egyptian157 Exploration Fund, and have seen two or three hundred men and boys working the whole day in a perpetual dust. What their cravings for a drink of water must have been was easily imagined; for though I worked in the shade and as far from the excavation dust as I could, the dry desert air often induced me to have a pull at the water-bottle. Mr. Currelly, who directed the work, was considerate enough to alter the hours, when we appreciated how these men suffered; and by starting at daybreak and working till dark, a long rest during the extreme heat of the day was permissible.
In the streets and bazaars of Cairo the fast seems to affect the tempers of the people even more than the hamseen is wont to do. Quarrels are much more frequent, and the only occasion when I had a serious row with a native which might have led to very unpleasant consequences was during Ramadan.
I had secured a comfortable seat on the mastaba of a little shop and was painting a fruit-stall on the opposite side of the road. My man Mohammed induced the woman who kept the stall to pose to me while she squatted amidst the apples and oranges which she sold. The usual bargaining took place between my man and the woman, and inquisitive neighbours were interested as usual in the proceedings. When it was agreed that she would pose for about the value of her whole stock in trade, I set to work. She was a young woman and wore no face-veil, which suggested that she was of easy virtue. I was, however, more concerned with my drawing than with the morals of my model. A rough-looking fellow presently started158 an altercation with her, and as he stood between me and my subject, I told Mohammed to ask him to stand aside. It appeared that the man objected to the woman being painted, and he turned furiously on Mohammed when the latter tried to induce him to move on. Had I then had Mahmood as a servant, he would have made short work of my interrupter; but Mohammed had neither the courage nor the physical strength for such strong measures. Gentle persuasion had no effect on the brute, and he suddenly ended his arguments with my model by giving her a violent slap on her cheek. He then rushed across to where I was sitting and roughly sat down beside me. I was new to Cairo then and could not understand what he said, and I put my materials aside before attempting to rid myself of my unpleasant neighbour. Leaning over me he stuck his fingers right on to my drawing, and was rewarded by a blow in his ribs which sent him sprawling on to the road. That was one for touching my drawing and two for the slap on the woman’s cheek.
Personal courage is not a characteristic of the Egyptians; but when they ‘see red,’ as they describe it, they become like raving madmen. A crowd collected before the man had hardly picked himself up, and I did not at once know what the attitude of the crowd towards myself might be. Mohammed’s persuasive powers were of good service now, and several onlookers held back the man, who made frantic efforts to get at me. He then ran back to the shop, and picking up the thickest piece of sugar-cane, he yelled out his curses and made another rush at me. The crowd159 seemed happily to side with the Nusranee, or possibly wished to prevent the Moslem from getting into further trouble. However that might have been, the man was well guarded until I could get away.
Mohammed had doubtless been of great service to me; he had most likely lied to the crowd that I was a nephew of Lord Cromer’s, or son-in-law to the head of the police, as I found out on later occasions that he had inspired a certain respect for me by similar falsehoods. Be this as it may, I was fortunate to have got out of the row as well as I had. But why should Mohammed have been so alarmed when I insisted on his going with me to the nearest police-court? He was about to turn tail when we reached the entrance; I was, however, in no mood to argue the matter—he should either come in or leave my service.
The Moslem magistrate and his clerks fortunately spoke French, and I was able to state my case. They questioned Mohammed in Arabic, and he, having got over his fears of the police-court, gave a fair account of what had taken place. I was assured that the man would be found, and that I should hear again from them before long.
I returned the next day to the fruit-stall, and made some compensation to the woman for the slap on her cheek of which I had been the innocent cause; but nothing would persuade her to sit to me any more. When I got to work she closed up her shop and departed. I consoled myself, while I put in the detail of the mushrbiyeh oriel which projected over her closed shutters, that the solatium I had given her would160 more than cover any loss of custom during a Ramadan morning. When an Arab in the poorer quarters buys an orange, it is for immediate consumption. To be seen buying one, unless just before or after the gun announces the setting of the sun, would awaken suspicions as to the orthodoxy of the purchaser. A stray Jew or Copt might turn up as a customer; but the chances were slight, as we were far from either the Jewish or Coptic quarters.
I had to finish my fruit-shop as best I could from other studies, and find another woman to help me to finish the figure.
Days went by, and I heard nothing further about my aggressor, and concluded that either he had not been found, or that my statement had been pigeon-holed, and its existence forgotten. I was anyhow singularly free from interruptions when I worked in the street where I had been molested, and did not much mind if I heard no more about it. After a fortnight or so, I received a letter from the British consulate, telling me to appear at the police-court on such and such a day. I went at the appointed time, and waited in the magistrate’s office until my case should come on. The clerk was pleased to air his French, and tell me about the prisoner, and the punishment he would probably undergo. Had he called me a Kelb? seemed a matter of great import. He had probably called me the ‘son of a dog’; but I was more concerned at the time as to what he would do with the thick cane than hurt by these reflections on my parentage. I was asked if I would go into the hall and see the man, and I did so.161 I not only found him there, in the custody of a policeman, but I was introduced to a crowd of his relations. One and all beseeched me to let him off, and Mohammed told a woeful tale of how many were dependent on the loafer’s earnings. The starvation of a numerous offspring would be laid to my account should the prisoner be prevented from loafing in his own particular manner. The tears of his mother had some effect—but what could I do? I did not run this show, I got Mohammed to explain, and the decision must rest with the magistrate. I would, however, make as light of the case as I could, seeing that it was during Ramadan that it happened. There being no skirt to my garments, the old mother had a try at kissing the hem of my trousers, and as to the prisoner himself, I could hardly recognise in the poor lachrymose creature the furious ruffian of the fruit-stall.
The result of all this pleading put me in the unusual position (when our case was called) of advocate for the defence rather than that of the prosecutor. When the man got off with sixteen days, I had to slip away quickly to avoid the marks of gratitude from his relations. The part which struck me as odd was that none of his sentence was due to his violent slap of the poor woman’s cheek. She was not his wife, I explained to the clerk while I waited in the office. ‘There had been matrimonial relations of a sort,’ he explained, and he seemed to hold that that might cover his right to administer corporal punishment. It was my first season in Egypt, so I had still much to learn.
Had the sixteen days of my aggressor’s confinement162 been passed while the fast lasted, it would have been a light sentence. But Ramadan was now far spent, and the term lasted over the holidays of the Lesser Beiram. That must have been a bitter pill for him to swallow, for there are great rejoicings and feastings on the first day of Shauwal. Except those under lock and key, few Arabs sit down to a meal where a bit of mutton does not enrich their stew.
Some months after, while I passed through the street of my fruit-shop, I noticed a man smiling at me, and making his salaams; I seemed to remember his face, though I could not quite place him. I asked Mohammed who my acquaintance might be, and he said, ‘Do you not remember the man you had put in prison?’
I have met with many cases since, where an Egyptian has been justly punished, and has shown as little resentment. I have asked large employers of labour as to whether any spiteful action ever followed to the master who had sent one of his men to the lock-up. I was told that acts of vengeance were common enough; but never in a case where punishment was merited. They are not slow to wrath, but the sun seldom goes down on their anger. I have known cases, however, where some fellah having been grossly cheated, and not being able to get justice in the courts, has nursed his revenge for a long while. A burning stack or a lighted thatch may be so long after the first wrong that suspicion may fall on others than the incendiary. ‘Never hurry your revenge; it will be just as sweet in two years’ time,’ is a saying amongst the fellaheen; but nothing163 but the grossest injustice will excite this passion in so light-hearted a people.
It is a matter of congratulation to every one in Mohammedan countries, whether he be a follower of the Prophet or not, when the festivities of Shauwal announce that the fast of Ramadan is over.
The streets are full of colour during the first days of the month of Shauwal. Parents take their children from house to house to show them off in their new garments; for all who can possibly afford it cast off their old clothes at the end of the fast and appear in new ones to enjoy the feast. Primitive merry-go-rounds are erected in the vacant spaces, and the various eatables appropriate to the Little Beiram are on sale everywhere. The rich give of their substance to the needy, and happy faces contrast pleasantly with the saddened looks so frequent during the great fast.
There is a pause in the festivals during the month of el-Kaadeh, which follows Shauwal, and el-Heggeh, which is the last month of the Mohammedan year, makes up for this in the excitements pertaining to the Mekka pilgrimage. The Great Beiram, or the ‘Eed el-Kebir,’ as it is called by the Egyptians, falls on the tenth day and it lasts during the three following ones. Its advent is noticeable from the flocks of sheep and goats and also the buffaloes which enter Cairo from the fertile plains of the Delta. Sheep are brought round to the bazaars to sell to the merchants who may not wish to attend the markets, and they are frequently to be seen tethered outside the stalls in the poorer quarters, where they are fatted for the sacrifice which takes place at the164 same hour as the one offered up by the pilgrims at Mekka.
Almsgiving is an important duty and is well observed in the Mohammedan world: on the tenth day of el-Heggeh those who cannot afford a sheep partake of the sacrificial offerings of their well-to-do neighbours.
The new garments of the Lesser Beiram appear again on the greater festival, and the gaily coloured dresses of the children once more enliven the streets. For three days all business is at a standstill, and merry-making and religious exercises go on all the while. On the third night it is usual to visit the tombs of the deceased relatives—a less mournful ending to the festivities than might be supposed. The approaches to the cemeteries are gay with booths and tents, rigged up either for entertainments or for religious zikrs. Should the festival fall during the hot season the tomb visiting is somewhat of an all-night picnic.
Moharram is the month which follows the last, and with it begins the Mohammedan year. The tenth day is called the Ashura, and an event which takes place on the evening of that day is not easily forgotten by any strangers who may happen to have witnessed it. The Sheeas in Cairo (mostly Persians) then commemorate the death of Husseyn, the twin brother of Hassan and grandson of the Prophet. They claim that as Hassan had died, the succession should have continued through Husseyn and his son, Ali Akbar, after him; whereas the Sunnees claim that as Abubekr was chosen by the Prophet himself as his successor, Abubekr’s descendants165 had a claim prior to that of Mohammed’s actual blood relations. This caused the great split in the Mohammedan world. The Sunnees revere the memory of the twin brothers, and the festival which takes place on their birthday is one of the great events in orthodox Egypt.
The Sheeas commemorate the day of Husseyn’s death, which he met on the field of Kerbala while fighting the usurper of his rights to the Khalifate. That they should do so in Persia is easily understood; but that they should be allowed to parade the streets of Cairo and proclaim their heresy to the crowds of orthodox Sunnees, speaks well for the toleration of the latter. It is true that the police rope the streets through which the procession passes, and a large body of them guard the processionists from molestation. But were the fanaticism of the populace really stirred, the events which I witnessed could never take place.
I got a seat in a coffee-shop close to the Hasaneyn mosque about an hour after sunset; and although the Persians would not be allowed to enter the mosque itself, I felt sure that their enthusiasm would be stirred to the highest pitch when they passed by the shrine where the head of Husseyn is said to be buried.
Crowds of people awaited alongside the route which the Sheeas would take; the display of so much heresy seemed to trouble them very little, and, like myself, they looked forward to an evening’s entertainment. The street was not lighted up as on the day of the birth of the twin brothers, so that the light which presently appeared at the further end of the street attracted the attention of every one at once.
166 A number of flaming cressets lit up the grey houses where the procession turned from out the Mousky into the Hasaneyn street. As it approached, the short jerky chorus of the men was more often repeated: ‘Hassan, Husseyn! Hassan, Husseyn!’ The shouts got wilder and more frequent as the procession drew near to the mosque. The first to pass us was a man on horseback, who harangued the crowd during an interval in the chorus. He told of how the young Husseyn died in fighting for his faith and against the usurper of his throne. The crowd seemed as little inclined to contradict him as I was, although a few murmurs of dissent came from some who sat on the bench beside me. The men who carried the flaming cressets followed next, and then several mounted policemen. These were not necessarily Sheeas, but were there to preserve the heretics from any hostile demonstrations on the part of onlookers. A number of men carrying tall banners and others with more cressets followed the guardians of the law. Two led horses between a long double file of Persians carrying lanterns were the next objects of interest, for these horses represented the twin sons of Ali, who both were killed while mounted on their steeds.
The ever-increasing noise at the further end of the procession prepared me somewhat for an exciting scene; but I hardly expected the gruesome sight which now followed. A number of men, some half-clad and others in long white garments, were literally streaming with blood. They carried naked swords, with which they occasionally slashed their foreheads, and the167 white garments which caught the jets of blood seemed as if they had been worn with the purpose of making the sight more ghastly. Some swayed as if about to fall, and had hardly any voice left to shout the names of their heroes. Others, in a state of frenzy, brandished their swords and shouted, ‘Hassan! Husseyn!’
We were so near some of these men in the narrow street that I had to withdraw my legs so as not to touch their blood-stained garments. They wore no turbans, and the awful wounds on their close-shaven heads made me feel sick. There were some without swords who preferred to flog their naked bodies with chains, and though this ordeal may have been worse than the other, it was, at any rate, less gruesome to behold. A small boy on a led white horse followed, and blood ran down his face and stained his white robes. I felt indignant that a child should take part in this ghastly orgy; but a suspicion that the blood had been skilfully placed there before the procession had started cooled my indignation.
I witnessed the above some fifteen years ago, and it is possible that some of the worst features may have been modified. It might well be prohibited, for these Sheeas are strangers in the land, and no orthodox Egyptian could object to the prohibition of practices carried on by those whom they consider heretics. When the Dóseh was stopped soon after the British occupation, it was a much greater interference with the religion of the people, for the Dóseh was not a Sheea practice; it was, on the contrary, one of the great events during the Moolid en-Nebi, the birthday of the168 Prophet. It was a barbaric performance and many people were seriously injured, though to this day Moslems have tried to assure me that when the Sheykh rode over the prostrate bodies of the faithful, none were injured by the horse’s hoofs, and all received great blessings through this act of faith. They have, however, quietly submitted to the prohibition of being trampled on, and would doubtless raise no objection to the heretics living in this country being similarly prohibited from practising the barbarities of the Ashura.
Towards the end of Safar, the second month, the return of the Mekka caravan may be expected, and we again witness the picturesque procession of the Mahmal which has been described.
The third month, or Rabeea el-Owwal, is the month of the Prophet. His birth and death are both said to have taken place on the twelfth day; and any one wishing to see as much of the life and character of the Egyptians as possible will find something of interest during the first two weeks of that month. With the exception of the Dóseh, all the ceremonies which Lane describes as having taken place in his day may now be seen during the latter end of the tourist season, for the first day of the Mohammedan year 1330 was on the twenty-second day of December 1911. Three lunar months added to that date takes us into the middle of March 1912. As these dates get a set-back of eleven days each year, visitors in the near future will not have to wait to as late a date to assist in the festivities of the Moolid en-Nebi.
169 If not pressed for time and a certain amount of heat can be borne, both April and May are delightful months in Egypt, always excepting the days of hamseen. Apart from this festival (which then fell in April) modern Cairo is beautified with its numerous blossoming trees. The trying hot winds cease early in May, and though that month is, I admit, a hot one, I consider it and also June to be the months when the painter may do his best work in Egypt.